


Knowing

by supergirrl



Series: Words [6]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/pseuds/supergirrl
Summary: Toast gasped. She could see the magic, spreading out from them in waves, rippling through the parched waste and leaving green in its wake. Plants sprouted from the earth, unfurling their leaves and reaching towards the sun. All around them, the Wasteland lived again.Dag looked up at Toast, grinning widely. “That was much better.”Toast pulled her up, returning the smile, “My turn.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is the first chapter of a Toast-centric fic set in the Words universe, and will explore how her relationship with Slit develops, as well as her interactions with her sisters, Furiosa, and the rest of the Citadel. It starts a few weeks after Toast and Dag's chapters of Our Words, so I would recommend reading those first if you haven't.

As she walked back to the rooms she shared with her sisters, Toast found herself in a surprisingly good mood. It had been a long day, but she liked working in the garages. In a strange and ever-changing world, cars were still something that made sense to her, and it gave her an opportunity to scout out potential members for a crew.

But for now, all she wanted was a bath, a back rub from Capable, and some time to read before she went to sleep. Dag had asked her why she still spent so much time pouring over books, since she knew-well,  _everything_. And it was true that she was All-Knowing now, not just Knowing, but reading put everything together and gave life to the ideas and plans forming in her mind. After all, there wasn’t much use in knowing everything when you weren’t sure what to do with any of it.

Despite her fatigue, she was alert enough to notice that someone was following her. Toast resisted the urge to turn around and look to see who it was; this was a perfect opportunity to hone one of her newfound skills. Taking a deep breath, she reached out with her mind, feeling for the person behind her.

She could tell it was a War Boy immediately-violence and pain were stamped deep in them. But in addition to the ubiquitous War Boy blend of fear, anger, and uncertainty, there was curiosity too, not to mention respect and more than a little bit of awe. For an instant, she saw a flash of her own face, smiling despite the bloody knife clutched in her hand, and she knew who it was.

This was the War Boy she’d spoken to after the Organic Mechanic’s execution-Slit, he was called, according to some of her workers in the garages.

After that day, she'd found herself thinking about him, wondering who he was and why he was unaccountably on her mind so much. She made some subtle inquiries-well, at least she hoped they were subtle. As reluctant as she was to admit it, he had piqued her interest. Mel told her that he was one of the lucky few plucked from the wreckage after they cleared the pass. Valkyrie and the other Vuvalini survivors had traversed the canyon on foot and been picked up by Toast and Capable, but a second group had gone out a few days later to search the far side of the mountains. It had been more of a salvage mission than a rescue party; no one expected to find many live War Boys after such a bloody battle. And indeed, Slit had been one of the few still alive.

“We found him pinned under his rig, out of his mind with thirst and bruised to hell, but still alive.” Mel had shaken her head in disbelief. “Don’t know how he survived an explosion like that, let alone days without water. Never seen anything like it. The Mother must’ve spared him for something special.”

Toast had thanked her and not pressed any further; she didn't want the others to know about her interest in him until she understood why, precisely, she understood where it was coming from. Was he goddess-chosen, another one of Her hands on earth-albeit in the most unlikely of places-or was she intrigued by him for other, more worldly reasons?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

“Looking for something?” She turned to face him, stepping close and tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

It was strange to see a War Boy besides Nux up this close, much less engage in a conversation with one, as most of them were too awestruck by her to say more than a few words. But they followed her orders, and for now, that was all she cared about.

Slit’s scars were extensive and seemed more random than Nux’s, covering his arms and torso. The cuts bisecting his cheeks made her cringe and wonder how anyone could bear the constant pain of staples tearing into sensitive skin. But under all of that...he was well-made, with fresh scars showing where tumors had been recently removed, and his eyes were sharp and watchful.  

Toast realized he was studying her just as intently as she had been him. There was no lasciviousness to it, just a frank and honest interest. She supposed that her appearance was just as strange to him as his was for her. But at least she had real clothes now, not just the fine wisps of cloth she'd worn before. Cheedo had hemmed a pair of Furiosa's old pants to fit her, and Capable stitched together some of their spare cloth to make a tight-fitting shirt like the one Furiosa wore. And she no longer went barefoot; Dag gifted her the oversized boots she'd stolen from the Vault, with rags stuffed in the toes to make them fit better. At first she'd felt foolish, like a child dressing up in their parent's oversized clothes, but they were far more comfortable and helped her project a sense of authority.

He shook his head. “Just wanted to see you again.”

“Why?”

“They said the Imm-I mean, Joe was a god, and I died for him. Now they’re calling you one too, you and your sister, and I wanted to see for myself.”

“I don’t think I’m a god, and neither does Dag.” Toast tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. She understood his curiosity but she was tired of this, sick of being watched constantly. It had been this way for her entire life, first because of how she looked, and now because people thought she was divine. The stares made her feel like an object, as though she was some Old World statue who had stepped off her pedestal to walk amongst humans. She loathed it.

At the same time, she could understand their confusion. For years Joe had told everyone that he was a god and demanded their worship; few of them knew of any god besides him. And they’d barely had time to process his death before She had come to the Citadel and visited her and Dag, changing them forever. Perhaps if they had been able to keep it quiet for a while…but any chance of that had vanished when Dag raised a War Boy from the dead.

He seemed disappointed at her answer, which Toast found amusing. “That’s all anyone will talk about, and it’s not even true?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Toast said as she started walking again. He fell into step beside her, and although his stride was much longer than hers, she didn't speed up. If he wanted to talk to her, he would match her pace, not the other way around. “In the Old World, some said that gods only existed because someone believed in them, that believing in them was what made them real."

"So?" He seemed unimpressed by the beliefs of Old World people, and she couldn't entirely blame him; from what she knew, they had been a foolhardy and selfish lot. Toast hoped that she could use their mistakes as a guide for what not to do, to build a society that would avoid the pitfalls of their ancestors.

“That means whether or not I'm a god depends on whether you believe that I am. What do you think?” Toast said sarcastically, striking a pose, daring him to drop his gaze to her body and end his chances of ever lancing for her. There would be no room on her crew for oglers. “Am I a god?”

But he kept his eyes on her face. “Not sure yet. You might be too small.”

Unexpectedly, she laughed. "Join my crew and maybe you'll find out. We'll be starting patrols soon and I need a good lancer at my back." Capable told her that he had lanced for Nux before the road war, and that he'd been obsessed with taking over Nux's position as driver. Somehow she suspected that she wouldn't have the same problem.

He grinned at her in assent, and Toast felt an unfamiliar flutter of excitement. Whatever this was-and she wasn't sure what it was at all-it was certainly going to be interesting.

 


	2. Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After inadvertently performing a miracle, Toast decides to explore her powers with Dag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter, and I really hope you all enjoy it. I'd like to share some absolutely AMAZING fan art to accompany the Words series.
> 
> http://le-temps-viendra36.tumblr.com/post/158560917949/revenant-art
> 
> This first piece accompanies Revenant, and was commissioned by the lovely @jaetion and drawn by indiasierrabravo. They are both ridiculously talented and you should definitely check them out! This drawing perfectly captures Angharad's indomitable spirit and strength.
> 
> Not knowing that jaetion had already commissioned an Angharad piece for me, I commissioned an Angharad picture from blatterburystreet. This is set during Angharad's chapter of Our Words, when blood from her self-inflicted turns to flowers, frightening Joe and strengthening her convictions. 
> 
> http://blatterburys.tumblr.com/post/160836013035/deviantart-patreon-instagram-twitter
> 
> I am planning on commissioning art to accompany each of the Sister's chapters of Our Words, and maybe for the other characters too. If you have any suggestions, please let me know!
> 
> And finally, if you haven't had the chance, you should definitely check out all the amazing fics that were written for the Mad Max fic exchange.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/collections/FuryRoadExchange_II
> 
> Sorry for the long author's note, and on to the chapter!

Toast was no stranger to troubled sleep. In the Vault she’d never managed more than a light doze-too anxious to ever truly relax, too afraid of Joe for any real peace-and even though she slept better now, she was still plagued by nightmares. Sometimes she dreamed of Joe and the torments of her past, and would wake up shaking with fear. On those nights, her sisters would take turns sitting up with her until she felt calm enough to sleep again. And yet, as much as she hated those dreams, they were far from the worst she experienced. 

Other times she dreamed of something-she wasn’t exactly sure what. The future, some other life, or just the manifestations of her deepest and most painful thoughts?

In those dreams, she watched Dag die in a bed of blood, ripped apart by the sprog growing inside her. She saw Cheedo cut down by a hail of bullets on the Fury Road and Capable burning alive in the wreckage of the Rig. She was always helpless, unable to intervene, forced to watch the people she loved perish. 

And Angharad. Over and over again she relived the moment that her sister slipped, the look in her eyes as she fell and her final scream, tearing through the air as she plummeted to her death. The shock, the disbelief-because Angharad couldn’t be gone, she couldn’t-was still sharp and raw in her chest. 

As much as they disturbed her, there was still a part of her that knew it was only in her head. But this-this was different. 

She was walking through one of the countless dark, claustrophobic passages that crisscrossed the Citadel, so anonymous Toast wasn’t even sure which tower she was in.  Yet a strange sense of urgency propelled her past sleeping War Boys and scattered tools, and Toast felt certain that whatever this was, it had to do with her magic. 

Suddenly she felt a strange jolt and the ground shook beneath her, the walls swaying in a way she hadn’t even though possible. Stone rained down as the tunnel collapsed around her, the air filling with the screams of people being crushed-

Cracks formed beneath her feet and Toast realized the floor was giving way. She took off running, but she wasn’t fast enough, and stumbled. Through the haze, she saw the sun rising between two towers, its rays gleaming off the dome of the Vault. 

She awoke with a jolt, heart pounding as she clambered out of bed-trying and failing not to jostle Capable-and began to throw on clothes. They didn’t have long, the sun would be coming up soon, and then it would be too late-

Toast shook her head, but the screams she had heard in her dream continued to reverberate through her mind. 

Her sisters were awake, gathering around her and asking what was wrong, but she found herself unable to answer coherently, as though her tongue had been immobilized by the agony to come.

“West tower-gonna collapse-gotta get them out-”

Somehow Dag understood how important this was and dashed out of the room, calling for Furiosa. 

By the time she and Furiosa returned, Toast was calm enough to explain that she had seen at least part of the western tower cave in, and that she knew it would happen before dawn. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew how bizarre it sounded, and doubted whether anyone would believe her, especially pragmatic Furiosa. 

And although Furiosa looked skeptical, when Toast finished speaking, all she asked was, “Are you sure?”

She knew with absolute certainty that what she had seen was true, and said so.

Furiosa gave a curt nod and turned to leave. “I’ll give the orders to clear the tower.”

But as Toast moved to follow her, she felt the divine presence inside her fade-not leaving her, just receding, leaving her dizzy and weak. Darkness overcame her, and the last thing she remembered was her sisters helping her back into bed.

 

Toast woke from a deep, dreamless sleep, still feeling utterly drained. Although she wasn’t usually one to linger in bed, she felt too exhausted to move. But she needed to get up and make sure they had evacuated everyone in time…

She must have fallen asleep again, because when she opened her eyes, Dag was perched on the end of the bed. 

Before she could speak, her sister handed her a plate of food and a steaming mug, then answered her unspoken question.

“Yes, yes, the eastern face of the west tower collapsed just like you said it would, right after dawn. But everyone got out, no one was even hurt.  ”

Relief flooded her, and realizing how ravenous she was, began to eat.  Around a mouthful of greens, Toast asked, “Where are Capable and Cheedo?”

“They’re supervising the removal of rubble, but you-” As Toast tried to get up, Dag gently but firmly pushed her back into bed “-need to rest, you saved countless lives today and you’ve earned the right to laze around.”

She hated to admit it, but Dag was right. Overexerting herself wouldn’t do any good, so she focused on her food. The bitter tea was sharp but invigorating, bringing her back to herself.  Finally, she spoke. 

“I’ve never felt tired like this before...but I’ve also never done anything like that before.”

Dag made a sound of agreement. “I think the magic takes a toll on our bodies. The Goddess is in us but we are still mortal flesh.”

Toast thought for a moment. “When I use it in small ways it isn’t so bad, but I can’t control it all the time-especially not with these bigger things…” They had not yet had a practical discussion about their magic, and Toast thought it was time they did.

Dag sighed. “I can’t even manage that.  Sometimes I try to make plants grow and they don’t, and other times dead things come to life around me when I don’t want them to.”

“Like what?”

“Yesterday I was craving lizard, and Capable must have told Nux, because he brought me one.  Even snapped the neck for me so I wouldn’t have to.”

Toast was somewhat surprised, because as far as she knew, Dag never ate meat of any sort, but pregnancy had been giving her odd tastes.

Dag continued, “It was dead as can be, but when I put it in my mouth, it started _squirming_ -” As she spoke, a greenish pallor spread across her face, and when she broke off gagging, Toast lunged for the basin next to the bed. She pressed it into Dag’s hands just in the nick of time and held back her sister’s hair as she was violently sick.

Toast wasn’t sure how she felt about the sprog growing inside Dag. She supported Dag’s decision to keep it-that choice hadn’t been hers to make-but she didn’t know if she could love it, or even feel ambivalent towards it. For now, she not only resented the way it was taking over her sister’s body and causing her pain, but also worried about the future too.  Her dream of the collapse had proven true, what if the ones she’d had of Dag dying in childbed were similarly prophetic? If Joe’s spawn cost her sister her life, Toast would never forgive it. 

But she wouldn’t allow that to happen. It wouldn’t be born for several more moon cycles, there was time for Toast to learn as much as she could about babies and their coming, time for her and Dag to master their magic.

Another disturbing thought occurred to her. Before the Fury Road, Toast hadn’t thought Joe capable of fathering healthy babies. But according to the Organic Mechanic, Angharad had been carrying a perfect, living son-at least until he had cut it out of her while she still breathed. 

By the Mother, Toast was grateful they had executed him. 

But if Dag gave birth to Joe’s long-desired, albeit posthumous, heir, what would that do to Citadel politics? Would the surviving War Boys see Dag’s child as just another sprog, or a potential figurehead for a counterrevolution? So far, they seemed content with the new leadership and the fledgling democracy that now governed the Citadel, but a lot could change in a few months. 

So, in the time leading up to the birth, Toast realized she would need to woo the War Boys and ensure that there were no pockets of discontent. It didn’t matter to her whether they loved and obeyed Furiosa or the Goddess or even her and her sisters-just as long as it wasn’t Joe. Nux and Furiosa’s old crewmate, the Ace, were fiercely loyal and influential enough to sway many of the War Boys, but they were most respected among other revvheads, the drivers and Black Thumbs.  She would need to win over the lancers too.

Unbidden, Slit’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. Respected and feared by the others, and a damn good lancer from what she had heard. He might make a good ally-if she brought him into her inner circle, perhaps he could bind the lancers to them. Although that would require getting closer to him…  

“Are you well?” Dag’s inquiry was soft and full of concern. 

 Toast tucked those thoughts away for now, telling herself firmly that spending time with Slit would be a purely strategic move and nothing more. “I’m fine.”

And it was true, she was already feeling much better, enough to sit up and climb out of bed. In fact, ever since Dag had come into the room, she had started feeling stronger. 

Was it a coincidence that her magic was more powerful and easier to control when she was with Dag? Or that Dag alone had been able to understand her panicked ramblings about the vision brought about by her magic? There was so much about their magic that they didn’t understand, so much to learn.

As if she had read her mind, Dag said, “We need to learn how to use our magic, it was given to us for a reason but mastering it is up to us.”

Toast agreed; there must have been a reason why the Goddess visited them on the same day. They were not meant to do this alone. “Together. I think we have to learn together.”

 

 

It still felt strange to stand freely out under the open sky, but Toast reveled in it.  Although it was more or less impossible to do anything in secret in the Citadel, they had managed to find a vehicle and take the lift down without attracting much attention.  Fortunately for them, everyone was too focused on surveying the damaged tower to notice anything else. When they were far enough way to avoid unwanted passerby, but still near the safety of the Citadel, Toast parked the vehicle and they had climbed out.

“Now what?” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. Even though they were alone, she still like what they were doing was something private and sacred. 

“Maybe we could pray?” Toast had never much been one for prayers; that was Dag’s domain. But she supposed it couldn’t hurt.

Toast took Dag’s hand, feeling the new calluses forming on her sister’s palm from hours spent working in the gardens, and it was familiar and comforting.      

Dag’s eyes fluttered shut and she began to mouth a silent prayer, her lips moving rapidly. 

Toast wondered whether it was the same prayer she had been muttering before the final battle. 

Suddenly, she felt…not the same overwhelming divine presence from earlier, but a gentle nudge, as if the Goddess was hovering over her shoulder and guiding her. 

Words began to spill from her lips, strange phrases she had never heard before yet felt oddly familiar, in a soft, melodic chant, “ _I am the Mother of the World, the One Who Is All. I am she who finds fruit for humans, she who brings the rain and turns the dead land green. Death is not the end of all things, for I am the Resurrection, and through me the world shall live again.”_

Halfway through Dag began to murmur the words along with her, half-singing in adulation, and something bright and powerful flared between them, binding them closer than they had ever been before-a link of their minds and souls. 

Dag let go of Toast’s hand and sank to her knees, yet the connection still thrummed strong between them. When Dag plunged her hands into the earth, Toast felt it, the ancient power lying dormant in the bones of the land rising up to meet them. Dag’s fingers curled in the sand, drawing the magic into them, and Toast tipped her head back and laughed, giddy with the heady sensation bubbling up inside of them. 

And then Dag let go, releasing it back into the ground, and Toast gasped. She could see the magic, spreading out from them in waves, rippling through the parched waste and leaving green in its wake. Plants sprouted from the earth, unfurling their leaves and reaching towards the sun. All around them, the Wasteland lived again.  

Dag looked up at Toast, grinning widely. “That was much better.”

Toast pulled her up, returning the smile, “My turn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I already have lots written for the next few chapters, so hopefully chapter 3 will be up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the delay with this update, real life has been very busy. Thank you all for reading, I really appreciate it and your comments make my day!
> 
> There is some absolutely amazing fan art for this series (including a drawing of Toast!), which I've included links to in the series notes, so check that out. I've also updated the playlist for this series to include songs for this fic, that link is also in the series notes. 
> 
> Content warning for descriptions of past domestic violence in this chapter, although it's non-graphic.

Closing her eyes, Toast reached out with her mind, opening herself to the same ageless power she and Dag had tapped into earlier. Yet when her mouth filled with magic, it did not taste like the land, as she had expected, like salt and sand and wind. She tasted wisdom, pure unadulterated understanding. Thoughts began to click into place, incomprehensible things made sense, and half-forgotten questions were answered. But the knowledge did not come alone.

Feelings flooded her-fear and pain, love and sorrow, joy and rage, all things that were familiar to her yet on a scale far vaster than a single person could ever experience. She drew in more with every breath, and she felt a deep, all-consuming grief rise within her. 

That was what the Citadel was built from-not stone or metal, but human suffering. Tears were its foundation, enough tears to fill the all the oceans of the Old World a thousand times over, a bottomless well of pain. 

Joe had hurt these people, caused this torment, and Toast wondered if it could ever be undone. Even with the aid of the One Who Is All, could she ever heal this broken land and the people who inhabited it?

Could she heal herself?

The worst moments of her life flashed through her mind-being stolen from her family, the beatings and rapes, miscarrying Joe’s spawn and feeling her life drain away as her blood poured and infection set in, all the loss she had endured-, and deep, unremitting agony rolled over her. She felt herself sob, overwhelmed by it all, because it was too much for one person to bear-    

And suddenly, relief. Dag had grabbed her hand firmly, opening the connection they had felt earlier, and drew the magic into her. Toast gasped for breath, air rushing into her lungs as the sensations dwindled to a manageable level. 

She slumped against Dag, choking out, “I can’t-it’s too much, so much hurt-”

Dag wrapped her arms around her, embracing her, and murmured, “This task is not yours alone, we’ll do this together. You helped me, let me help you.”

Letting Dag support her weight, Toast hesitantly opened herself to the magic again. It entered her again, but more slowly; it was a steady trickle, not a surge of emotions. With Dag’s comforting presence at the back of her mind, she focused on good, the stolen moments of joy and peace and happiness-the escape she found in books, all of the love she shared with her sisters, the simple pleasures of life-and kept the pain at bay.

She floated above it, taking in knowledge without the terrible burden from before, learning without being ravaged by pain. She saw everything. In the memories of inhabitants of the Citadel-both living and dead-she saw life as it had been for countless days, told through the beliefs and memories and dreams of countless people. Although she knew these were far from objective and that which she knew to be undeniably true, there was still something to be learned from them-all knowledge was valuable. But for the time being, she focused on what she needed to know at that moment, the reasons behind the partial collapse of the tower.

Toast closed her eyes and visualized the tower’s structure, feeling for the weaknesses that had caused part of it to come crashing down. To her immense relief, it seemed as though the flaw was in its construction-some of the tunnels hadn’t been reinforced correctly. She had feared that there was something wrong with the stone itself, or even in the earth beneath the Citadel, meaning they would have to move everyone out of all three towers.  Even though she dreamed of expanding beyond the Citadel and building up the Wasteland someday, they were not ready to take such a drastic step just yet. 

But for now, all was well.

     

 

“Can you drive?” Dag asked as they made their way back to the vehicle. On Dag’s suggestion, Toast had removed her boots so she could feel the new life sprouting from the desert beneath her feet, enjoying the softness of the plants against her toes.

“Yes, I’m fine now.” Yet Dag lingered, and Toast went to stand beside her. 

Dag sighed as she looked wistfully at the green. “I wish Keeper could see this.”

Keeper, with her precious bag of seeds, would have loved to see this. Toast hadn’t been as close with the eldest Vuvalini as Dag, but she knew precisely what Dag was feeling. It was all so bittersweet, because for every triumph, there was the memory of those who had sacrificed themselves so that this new world would be possible. 

She threaded her arm through Dag’s, pulling her close.    

“I think she can. Keeper, Miss Giddy, Angharad-they’re watching over us now, with the Goddess.”

Dag grinned. “I bet Angharad is already peppering Her with suggestions on how to better rule the world.”

Toast laughed, but in her mind’s eye, she could see it very clearly: the Mother enthroned in eternal splendor, with Angharad at her right hand, interceding on their behalf.

“She was never afraid to correct someone when they were wrong, or even when she thought she knew better.”

Dag chuckled, then asked, “Do you remember what she did, the last time the People Eater and the Bullet Farmer came?”

How could she forget? Every few hundred days, Joe would host his two closest allies at the Citadel, in his private quarters, ostensibly to reward them for their loyalty, but really to remind them who held the upper hand. The Citadel could survive without bullets and guzzoline, at least for a time, but if he chose to withhold water, the Bullet Farm and Gas Town would vanish within weeks. 

These occasions were always marked with ostentatious displays of wealth and power from Joe, with Toast and her sisters paraded out as the jewels in Joe’s crown. They were just another resource he controlled, no different from the pure water or fresh greens he served his guests.

They were supposed to be quiet during these visits, and generally they were, eating their food in silence and exchanging knowing looks whenever Joe said something particularly foolish. Later, when they were alone, they would mock him, taking turns mimicking the tyrants that ruled the Wasteland. Dag was the best at impersonating their voices, and Capable could perfectly replicate the twitchy movements of the Bullet Farmer and the People Eater’s ridiculous mannerisms. Angharad would march around the Vault with absurdly exaggerated steps and pretend to receive the acclamation of an imaginary crowd while Toast stood atop a chair and delivered her scornful version of his grandiloquent speeches. Cheedo didn’t know Joe or the others well enough to join in, but she would laugh until she clutched her sides and tears rolled down her face.  

These were the moments that helped keep them sane; open defiance or scorn was too dangerous. If one of them fought back or angered him, Joe would take it out on another, exploiting their love and attempting to turn them against each other. And usually, looking forward to those stolen moments of mirth was enough to get them through the torturous visits without incident. 

 

But during their final visit, Joe decided to announce Angharad’s pregnancy in his typical fashion: a pompous speech about his importance in the cult of the V8 and how his anticipated son and heir would ensure that his religion-and reign-lasted forever.

As he spoke, Toast could feel Angharad tensing as her anger built and caught hold of her hand, hidden beneath the swaths of white fabric that Joe made them wear. Angharad gripped her fingers hard, and Toast hoped she would stay calm and wait until they were alone before she vented her fury. 

But then he misquoted an Old World scholar, calling himself the divine aqua cola that nourished people otherwise destroyed by the Wasteland. That in itself wasn’t unusual; Joe thought he knew far more about the ancient scholars than he actually did. He typically butchered the passages he did remember, and wildly misinterpreted the ones he could recite correctly. Usually they kept quiet and ridiculed him for it later, but this time, something about it made Angharad snap.

Her voice had been low and hard as it cut through Joe’s, sharp like the blade she had once taken to her face, “Marx wrote, ‘Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people _._ ’ But you’re no one’s god, you’re just a lying old man. You were born like a man and you’ll die like one too. Don’t confuse what you are with true divinity, _Joe Moore_.”   

The use of Joe’s real name rendered him speechless; he hated to be reminded of his origins, that he was only a man.

Usually Joe never beat them when they were pregnant, or struck their faces, but this time he had been so enraged he had dragged Angharad back to the Vault, then pummeled her until her face was bloody and bruised, as well as breaking two fingers. He forced them to watch, restrained by Rictus and several Imperators, unable to intervene. All the while, Angharad was raging at Joe and cursing him, laughing derisively at his attempts to break her. None of them shed a tear, not even Cheedo. Joe wanted their fear, and they refused to give it to him.  

 Regardless of the sprog, Toast truly thought that Joe might kill Angharad for humiliating him in front of his allies and challenging his godhood. He was growing increasingly paranoid, and she knew that he feared showing any sign of weakness. But thankfully, he had collapsed before he could do any more harm, and Rictus whisked him away.

Before the door of the Vault clicked shut, Angharad called after him scornfully, “False god! Torture me, kill me, you’ll never change what you are!”

The Organic never treated their injuries from Joe, so they did it themselves, Miss Giddy teaching them how to set broken bones. By then whatever force that had motivated Angharad’s outburst had faded, and she lay there, very quiet beneath their ministrations.  She never cried out during the painful process, and her deeply satisfied smile never faded.  Angharad had spoken the truth, and to her, that was worth any amount of pain.

That was how Toast would always remember her sister: fierce and loving and cunning, sometimes too headstrong and bold for her own good, but always resolute in her beliefs. 

_She trusted in the Goddess when we had nothing, and she would believe in me now._

 

 

As they approached the lift, Toast scanned the throng around the western tower, looking for her sisters-Cheedo’s sleek black hair or Capable’s copper-bright braids always stuck out. She didn’t see them, but before she could wonder why they had returned to the Citadel, the crowd noticed them. A great cry went up, and people began to surge toward them.

Dag made a soft sound of alarm, and for a moment Toast was concerned too-had it been foolish to go down without telling anyone? But then she heard what they were cheering, and knew they were in no danger.

“Sister Toast!”

“Knowing!”

“Savior!”

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Sister Dag brings the green! Sister Toast saves us!”

These must have been the people in the tower, evacuated due to her vision. Without her gift, they would have been crushed beneath the falling stone, but instead, they were _alive_.

Because of her. 

_Thank you, Holy Mother._

She felt a powerful sense of certainty that this was the way things should be, that this was what she was meant to do. She and Dag-perhaps Capable and Cheedo too, someday-were Her hands on earth, to serve and save and heal. 

 

When they reached the garage, the press of people surrounding them forced Toast to drive excruciatingly slowly. It was more of the same-adulation and praise, people crying out their names and reaching for them. Toast couldn’t help but smile, thanking them as graciously as she could, squeezing hands and accepting the tokens people offered up to her. It was the absolute opposite of the acclaim Joe had forced them to give, because this love was freely given from genuine gratitude. There was no manipulation or coercion behind this adoration; the people loved them, and Toast loved them back. 

 

 “Toast-Toast!” Even with the clamor surrounding her, Toast instantly recognized Slit’s voice, although she wasn’t so sure about the way her stomach leapt when he came into view. He muscled his way through the crowd until he stood before her, and for a moment he stared, awe written on his face.  “You told me I had to decide for myself-I did. I believe.”

He fell to his knees and prostrated himself at her feet, shouting, “I will faithfully execute all that Toast commands! I will never desert her service, and that I will not seek to avoid death for her!"

At first she had no idea what he was saying, but then that All-Knowing part of her recognized it as the War Boy oath. All Boys swore it to Joe upon their promotion from Pup, and then again to the Imperator they served. This was a very public-albeit unprompted-declaration of his allegiance. But what did it mean? Was he swearing to her as a new Immortan or a member of her crew? 

Or was this something more personal?

Acutely aware of the fact that he was still laying face-first in the dirt, inches away from her boots, Toast felt herself blushing. Before she could decide how to react, a familiar voice cut through the din.

“Girls! We’ve been looking for you, time for a family meeting,” Mel stepped over Slit’s prone form without comment, although she quirked a brow at Toast. Relieved to have more time to process the situation, Toast followed Mel and Dag, wondering what they could possibly be meeting about.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer that I don't have any strong opinions on Marx and his politics/writing, he just seemed like the kind of writer that Joe would misquote in an attempt to seem smart. Thank you to @bluebeholder for helping me with that! Also, Slit's vow is a modified version of the oaths Roman legionnaires swore when they joined the army, it felt appropriate for the War Boys too.

**Author's Note:**

> When I reread this chapter, I realized that Toast is basically a Jedi...and I'm okay with it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, I can't promise super regular updates but I will try my best! Thank you for reading, as always!


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